Still Waters
by FirstDraft
Summary: ...run deep. Thomas goes too far and Bates gets to keep a promise, to Anna and everyone else's delight - until Anna realises that sometimes, words CAN mean more than action.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING:**

This is a bit of self-indulgent piece. How I sighed with disappointment when it ended up being William applying his fists to Thomas' face - I understand it was important that it should be him, but I was left wishing for Bates to get a chance to keep his promise to introduce Thomas' teeth to the back of his skull. And then MyMadness wrote the lovely Just Like Before, Today and Tomorrow, and supplied me with a wonderful image of Bates punching Thomas at last. The rest is not so much history as this story.

Unfortunately**, **I'm not nearly as good a writer as many of you here, especially when speed gets involved but hey, it's here and hopefully mildly diverting. No doubt I have got a few details wrong and missed numerous typos - I would be very grateful indeed for any heads-up on that matter and other useful critiques. Compliments welcome, too, if you're in the mood. ^_^

One more apology: I seem to have lost the knack for formatting files for publishing...

**xxXXXxx**

_You never disappoint._

Mr. Bates' words came to Anna's mind as she caught sight of Thomas smoking a cigarette outside the kitchen. After Lord Grantham's announcement that war had broken out with Germany, the party had been cut a little short; it should have in theory meant less work for the staff, but it had instead made the day very fraught and only partly because it had played havoc with the schedule and their routine. It would have been bad news at the best of time, but on top of Lady Grantham's miscarriage, something of what Mrs Hughes liked to call 'an atmosphere' had settled over the place – something heavy that was only getting heavier, a kind of invisible, paralysing gloom made ever worse by the sunshine that had bathed over them all afternoon. Anna told herself it was simply the humidity of an August day: clouds had started to appear over the edge of the estate around five o'clock and there was now not a bit of sky to be seen. The sun had set unseen, and they were bound to be hit by a thunderstorm before the morning.

Thomas, however, was the only who seemed unaffected by it all, and she knew the reason why. It hadn't taken long for word to circulate that he had handed in his notice: everyone knew as soon as Carson quietly tried to remonstrate with him about the somewhat careless way he was looking after departing guests and Thomas made it clear, a lot less quietly, that he wasn't to be 'ordered about' anymore. And so, ever since he had finished everything that directly fitted into his duties, he had sat outside and watched the rest of them work, refusing to lend a hand when in the past he would have had little choice but to do so. She shouldn't have been surprised in the least – as Mr Bates said, Thomas never disappointed when it came to being unpleasant – but today she was finding it particularly hard to bear. What kind of a man, she wondered, could take such pleasure at spreading discord around him? When she thought of how Bates could have got rid of him a long time ago, she felt a little angry. Thomas hadn't deserved his mercy. Even now that she knew what she did about his past, she didn't quite understand how he could have placed _his_ crimes so much higher than Thomas' that he didn't feel he could be the one to see justice meted out to him.

But then, she thought, if he were any different, he would not be John Bates. He would not be the man she loved.

_It's the humidity_, she told herself, wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve, _and don't you dare waste any more time thinking about Thomas and letting him get to you. It's just what he wants_.

"Everything all right, Anna? We were starting to worry about you."

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. "Everything's fine, Mrs Hughes. Just took a little longer getting everyone ready for bed."

"Very well. Why don't you go and sit with everyone else for some refreshments? You must be hungry."

"I'm famished, actually," Anna nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mrs Hughes."

"Not to worry – you did very well today, Anna. Everyone did." She paused, sniffed the air and turned in the direction Anna had come from. Anna realised she could smell Thomas' cigarette, too. "Almost everyone, that is," she said wryly. "Go on, then, Anna – I have a few things to discuss with Mr Carson but we'll see you in there in a few moments."

Anna had thought she was the last one to be finished with her work but she was wrong: Mr Bates was not in the servants' dining hall, either. It was to be expected, really: he was Lord Grantham's valet, after all, and Lord Grantham was often the last one to bed. On a day like today, His Lordship would have had a great deal more to think about and do before turning in. It suddenly occurred to her that Bates was also the only person in the house that he could discuss the war with: they had both been soldiers and they had even served together. With that thought came another, much more worrying to Anna: would Lord Grantham return to the army? Would Bates follow? She reminded herself that it was unlikely, at least not in a fighting position; his injury would prevent it. But they could still both go, if not to the front itself, then to London.

Her mood had briefly lifted at the thought she could finally sit down and have something to eat and drink, but now it soured again, even when Gwen and William greeted her warmly as she settled in her usual place. Branson, who had just returned from driving the Dowager Countess and the Crawleys home, poured her and himself a glass of water that was mercifully cool. She looked to him for his usual cheerful smile, but tonight he looked grim, too.

"I've never been more glad for a day to be over," Gwen said.

"Speak for yourself," Daisy sighed as she handed Anna a plate of bread and cheese to go with a bowl of soup. Anna gave the girl a sympathetic smile: she looked dishevelled with the heat of the day and the kitchen and nearly dead on her feet; it was the curse of the kitchen staff that they were usually the first to start and the last to finish.

"How's your captain?" Anna whispered to Daisy, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

"The usual," she answered, "only more so."

They all laughed at that, but poor Daisy was so tired that she had no idea she had said something funny. She slunk back to the kitchen, too tired to look confused.

Anna turned to Gwen between mouthfuls of her dinner. "Have you seen Mr Bates anywhere, Gwen?"

"I think I saw him with His Lordship in the library earlier. He must be getting him ready for bed now."

"So he _does_ have some work to do, then?" Thomas said. "Remarkable."

"What do you know about work?" Anna retorted before she could stop herself. "I've never seen you do much of it, and certainly not tonight."

"Hear, hear," William added.

Thomas was about to snap something back when O'Brien, who'd been sitting surprisingly quietly – she'd been doing a lot of that since Lady Grantham had lost her baby – glared at him. "Not tonight, Thomas, for God's sake."

Without his ally, he was severely diminished and seemed to know it. He dropped onto the bench, looking as surly as ever and said nothing more.

Trying to distract herself from morose thoughts about Bates, Anna asked Gwen about her new job.

"I don't know, really," Gwen said nervously. "Beyond some typing and all, I've no idea what to expect. I'm mostly worried about what my parents will say."

"Surely they won't complain once they realise it's a better wage than what you're on now?" Branson suggested. Gwen shrugged, looking embarrassed. Talking about money was not something anyone ever did publicly at Downton but Branson, with his political proclivities, didn't seem to have a problem doing so.

"Look at you little country mouse," Thomas said to Gwen. "Off to town and all. Mind yourself there, little girl. There are some pretty big cats around."

"We don't need to hear from you, thanks very much," Anna said.

"I was only giving her some friendly advice."

"I used to believe that, if anything, you were smart, Thomas," she replied. "But you still don't seem to get that no one cares what you think."

"I just think it's odd how Gwen's leaving and dropping you in it – especially you, Anna – but no one seems to mind. I'm at least off to do something useful – now more than ever."

"You're off to do what you do best, which is to look after yourself," Branson said. "I don't blame you," he added, sounding very much like in fact he did. "I think it's a stupid war anyway."

"How very Irish of you."

Branson's answer was an indifferent snort and it could have ended there. Later, Anna would have to admit that she should have let it lie – it never did any good to engage with Thomas – but there'd been a storm brewing all day inside as well as out. Something had to give.

"Come off it," she told him. "You're going into nursing. If it was anyone else doing what you're doing – like William – you'd call it woman's work."

Someone sniggered behind her; it was Daisy, who'd returned with more water for the table. Thomas gave the girl a vicious look that sent her running back into the kitchen, then turned back to Anna. "Now you mention it," he drawled, "I'm surprised you're not interested, Anna. You must know all about looking after wounded soldiers now. I bet Mr Bates has taught you all sorts about looking after all of a soldier's needs. Shall I put the word out about you?"

There was a sharp intake of breath around the table. Anna felt her cheeks redden and blood pound in her ears. Her fingers tightened reflexively on the glass she was holding.

"Thomas?"

The only one who didn't move at the sound of that voice was the person whose name had been called. Maybe because there was no mistaking whose voice that was. Maybe Thomas thought, like a child, that if he didn't see him, Bates wouldn't see him, either.

Anna looked at him, standing at the hall's entrance behind Thomas. When his eyes met hers, they looked on her as warmly as they ever did. And then they turned back on Thomas and Bates turned into a stranger.

"Thomas?" Bates repeated. "Would you care to step outside?"

"Don't, Mr Bates," Branson tried, ever the peacemaker, as they watched Bates hang first his cane then his jacket on the doorknob. "He really isn't worth it."

"He may not be, but Anna is. Thomas, don't make me ask again."

Anna stared at him, silently begging him to look at her again. She was paralysed by two contradictory fears that frantically chased each other's tail. Thomas was going to hurt Bates, and hurt him badly. That was the first fear. But then – and there was the second fear - she considered the look in Bates' eyes and realised it was Thomas she should worry about. Or, rather, since she didn't give two figs about him, what would happen to Bates if he hurt Thomas badly. And right now, in spite of his age and his injury, it seemed the more likely outcome. Bates was a big man, but at that moment, without his cane in hand, in his shirt and vest, he looked too big to fit in the doorway.

After what seemed like an age, Thomas finally moved, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Bates. "Would I care to step outside? No, it'd hardly be fair. Beating a cripple must be as bad as kicking a dog. And I like dogs."

"You should apologise to Anna, Thomas," William said, his eyes flicking back and forth between Thomas and the valet.

"He should step outside," Bates said.

"I'm getting Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes," Gwen stuttered, scrambling out of her seat to squeeze past Bates.

Thomas looked at Anna and moved to light a cigarette. "Make me," he told Bates.

If only one or two of them had been there to witness the scene, no one would have believed the tale of it. Bates lunged forward, grabbed the back of Thomas' shirt and vest and, as though he was nothing more than a stack of hay, lifted him off the bench where he sat. There were shrieks as Thomas' flailing feet hit the table, sending crockery flying everywhere; O'Brien swore, closely followed by Branson, but before anyone had the chance to understand what had just happened, Bates was dragging Thomas and himself towards the door at the back of the hall, which had been left open to let some air come in from the courtyard. What made the whole thing look almost surreal was that his limp hadn't magically disappeared, far from it: instead, he looked to be carrying two things - Thomas and his weaker leg. He was simply making it look as though neither were particularly heavy.

Somehow Anna managed to regain her senses and she bolted after Bates, not caring that she had to shove William and Branson out of the way as they all crowded around the doorway to the courtyard. She stumbled outside into the darkening world but could only watch as Bates tossed Thomas across the pebble stones. The footman rolled over a couple of times before coming to a halt on his back. To his credit, he was quick to stagger back to his feet, but it took longer for the rather imbecilic look of utter stupefaction to disappear off his face. Anna was willing to bet six months' wages that it wasn't so much that he'd just been handled like a sack of potatoes that had left him reeling, but rather who the handling had been done by – especially as the man concerned took a few, ever-limping steps towards him.

"I'll give you a chance to apologise to Anna now, Thomas," he said, rolling up his sleeves, "but I won't ask again this time."

_Don't apologise, _Anna thought. _Don't you dare apologise._

Thomas, his breathing ragged, snarled and threw himself at Bates' midsection –

"John!" she cried out –

- looking to tackle him. But Bates, once again, confounded expectations. Anna closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of Bates' body hitting the hard stones, and reopened them to find that Bates hadn't tried to stand his ground. He let Thomas' momentum guide them until his back hit a tower of crates, cracking wood and leaving Thomas to hang weakly to Bates' waist for balance. Before Thomas even had a chance to get a punch into his ribs, Bates had pushed him off of him and backwards. They all expected a reeling Thomas to land right on his backside again but he surprised them, too, and managed to stay upright.

Not, as it turned out, for very long. Bates hobbled forward and swung a fist in a simple, beautiful arc that connected so hard with Thomas' face that he didn't wait until he hit the ground to lose consciousness.

There was a long silence, broken only by what everyone thought at first was thunder. But it was Mr Carson, demanding to be let through into the courtyard. Once he got there, however, and saw Thomas drooling on the stones, Bates standing over him, he seemed to lose the power of speech. It was Mrs Hughes, who'd arrived close behind Carson, who asked the question that answered itself.

"Oh Lord," she sighed. " What has Thomas done now?"

**TBC**

**xxXXXxx**

****Yes, that's right! It was going to be a one-shot but then a few things suggested themselves to me as I wrote, and I can see one more chapter, where Bates and Anna consider what has happened and what it means for them...**  
**


	2. Chapter 2

_To start with, an apology. I was fully determined to end this story with this chapter but it looks like that's not meant to be. I blame Anna and John, who are both equally stubborn and determined to do what they like, even if that involves much moping about. Basically, this was going to be Bates' POV alone, but then he spent so much time feeling sorry for himself that it seemed unfair not to see Anna's as well._

_As with chapter 1, this was written somewhat more quickly than I usually manage and therefore the same disclaimers and excuses apply here as they do for the first part. Hopefully Anna doesn't come across as too overwrought, and it is satisfactory enough. It is, at the very least, longer than the previous chapter. And more is good, right? What applies to cake is bound to apply to most things._

_Now I've bored with stuff you didn't need to know, here we go…._

xxXXXxx

_You do disappoint after all._

Bates looked down at the unconscious Thomas and gritted his teeth to stop himself from kicking him where he lay. He wished he hadn't hit him so hard then, had made it last longer, had made him really pay for what he'd dared to say, and for every bit of malice he'd ever put into the world.

Oh God how good it felt: the rush of blood that sent his heart drumming. The silver-like clarity of rage. It was like waking from a deep sleep.

He turned to look at Anna. Her eyes were shining brightly in the crepuscule of the yard, her expression so gloriously fierce that it made his heart thump harder still. And then she turned away, quite suddenly, and rushed back into the hall. Her name died in his throat and he remembered where he was, just as Mr Carson reached his side and bent down to look at Thomas. The butler checked for signs of life then stood again, a tired look on his face.

"We'll talk about this in the morning, Mr Bates," he said. "Tom, William - would you take Thomas to his room, please."

"It was all an accident, honestly, Mr Carson," Branson chirped, cheerful at last, "Thomas just slipped."

"Mr Bates was only helping him up," William added as he and Branson hooked their arms around the footman's body.

"And then he slipped again," Daisy piped up from the doorway. The noise of the fight had brought out the kitchen staff as well, Mrs Patmore so stunned by what she'd seen that she couldn't get any words out of her open mouth. Carson raised his hand to halt the low key sniggering behind them and signalled to Bates that he should precede William and Branson.

He looked for Gwen as he made his way through the spectators and the kitchen, thinking he could get a message to Anna that way, but he couldn't see the girl. She'd probably gone straight after Anna and he was glad because he had in fact no idea of what he could say that would make any of it better, and at least she would not be alone. She had looked very upset.

He picked up his jacket and cane from the doorknob and hobbled upstairs; his bad leg was starting to throb and would punish him tomorrow for what he'd made it do tonight.

_Go to hell. I am the master of my fate, the captain of my soul._

Pride briefly reasserted itself. He had proved tonight that he was not diminished. It wasn't just Thomas he had beaten, it was the piece of metal that had wormed itself into his life. But as he reached the last step, the worm bit, cursing his pride. Bates stumbled and shuddered. He kept going, the same pride - always pride - keeping him going, only too aware of the people following not far behind.

He'd tried to change. He really had. But pride seemed to be the last thing to want to go, his best friend and his worst enemy. When he came out of prison with a limp and the title of thief, it was pride that had kept him away from the bottle, that had made him determined to prove himself once more and write to his old commanding officer. But wasn't it pride that had driven him to drink in the first place and apart from his wife? That had kept him from writing to Robert Crawley for so long because he couldn't bear to ask for help, to talk about the bad dreams and the pain in his leg that wouldn't let him sleep, couldn't bear the thought of losing his respect? If he couldn't tell his wife, how could he tell an Earl? And as for his foolish attempt to correct his limp...

Pride was still all Bates had left now. His friendship with Anna – so easy, so instant - had been the most wonderful surprise of his life; that it had then turned into the promise of something so much deeper was nothing short of miraculous. Now he regretted ever setting foot at Downton because what had seemed like the glimmer of redemption had been nothing but a mirage. And he had tried so hard not to love her. To keep his distance, to make her see sense. He had probably succeeded now, but it didn't feel like the relief he'd sought. The cure was worse than the disease.

He reached his bedroom at last and slipped in quietly, refusing to spare a glance down the corridor towards the women's quarters, as he'd got into the habit of doing before going to bed. He lit a couple of candles and dropped on the bed to start to undress, feeling unpleasantly hot and sweaty. The air in his room was stifling so he pushed himself to his feet again to open his small window.

A cool breeze swept over his face and, before he could finish thinking that the storm was close, lightning flashed in the dark. Thunder cracked over the house and soon the rain was lashing down, ricocheting off tiles and bricks and gurgling down the drainpipes. The smell of flowers and earth wafted up to him: it was a clean, pure smell, and Bates decided he needed a wash of his own. He couldn't be clean of soul but he could be clean of body.

He finished taking off his shirt, dropping it on the floor where he'd flung his collar, tie and vest, too unhappy to be his usual tidy self, and wondered why they had to wear undershirts on days like today. His ear to the door, he listened for the sounds of the others who shared his floor. He heard William and Branson finish whatever they had to do with Thomas, then a muffled conversation in the corridor. Two sets of footsteps passed his room, doors were open and closed. Bates grabbed his things and one of his candles and headed for the bathroom.

There wasn't enough time for anything more than a wash at the sink. He took off his undershirt and sighed with pleasure at the feel of water on his skin, and began to feel a little more like himself. He snorted - himself? Who he was was a great deal closer to the soldier feeling murderous in the courtyard than the valet staring at him in the mirror. With his basin he ran some water through his hair and was just towelling it dry when William walked in.

"Are you all right, Mr Bates?" he asked, looking like he'd come searching for him. Clearly, Bates' skill with stealth had become rusty over the years.

"I'm fine, William," he answered as he put his undershirt back on, trying for a smile to make his lie more convincing. "I'm just finished now. Good night."

"Would you teach me how to fight like that?"

He'd spoken quickly; more quickly than Bates had been able to leave. "William - what I did tonight -"

"It was marvellous," he interrupted. "I've never seen anything like it. Did you use to box?"

No. I used to go out drinking with soldiers and spent two years in prison.

"From what I remember you can more than hold your own," he said instead.

"Not like you can. I couldn't knock him out like you did."

"Being good in a fight isn't what makes you a man, William. Sometimes there's more valour in walking away."

"Are you saying you regret beating Thomas for what he said about you and Anna?"

Bates couldn't answer without telling William a lot more than he was prepared to. No, he didn't regret teaching Thomas a lesson, or putting that wrong to right. But he regretted losing himself over it. Losing her. William seemed to take his silence as agreement.

"You won't get into trouble with Mr Carson, I'm sure of it," he continued. "But if you think you will, me and Tom will swear blind he did slip."

William's earnestness, much like Anna's, was beguiling and he found himself smiling. "Thank you but I can't ask you to lie for me."

The young man looked disappointed, but there was nothing Bates could do about that. He wished the younger man good night and headed out of the bathroom.

"Oh Mr Bates, " William whispered hurriedly at his back, "Anna's in your room."

xxXXXxx

Anna had never been quick to tears. In fact, very few women she'd known had ever been, which often left her wondering why so many books and plays and stories suggested women were delicate flowers to be grown in a glasshouse. Had no man ever witnessed a woman giving birth? How could they have done and still call women the weaker sex?

But now she was struggling to contain her sobs. She'd had to run from the courtyard, from him, or she would have made a spectacle of herself, but she feared she might yet do so. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream - just _wanted_ - wanted so much that she thought she might bring the walls of the house down on herself with the force of it.

It was so _hot_. Anna heaved and started to undo her dress, needing to breathe more freely, and the door opened; she whirled around but it was only Gwen. How stupid of her - even now a part of her had hoped it might be him. But it couldn't be, of course not - it could _never_ be - that's why she'd fled, because she couldn't run to him, no matter how much she wanted to -

"What's wrong, Anna?"

- and that realisation was too much for her to take. Anna brought her hands to her face, as though she could physically stop herself, but it wasn't any good, and she burst into hot, stinging tears. When she started to collapse to the floor, a pale Gwen was there to catch her. Gently, she coaxed Anna to her bed and they sat there together, Anna's face buried in Gwen's neck as she wept, the girl's arms holding her close.

She murmured small, comforting words to Anna and then, when Anna started to feel spent and the tears slowed, produced a handkerchief for her to wipe the moisture from her face and to blow her nose with.

She blushed with embarrassment as Gwen found another handkerchief in her drawer and wiped herself around her throat, where Anna had been crying. Her collar sported quite a damp patch, too.

"I'm sorry, Gwen. I've made a right mess on you."

Her friend gave her warm, sympathetic look and sat back down next to her. "Don't be ridiculous, Anna. It's nothing. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing, really," she tried. She felt drained, and explaining exactly what was wrong seemed a mountain too many to climb right then. "It's been a long day and all. The heat must have got to me."

"That's rubbish. Sorry, Anna," she ploughed on, her usual odd mix of impetuousness and deference, "but it is. I know you. Something's wrong. It's not what Thomas said, is it? None of us believe it, you know."

Anna shook her head. She had felt a brief stab of humiliation at Thomas' words but it wasn't because he'd called her what amounted to a prostitute. It was from having her relationship with Bates - and in her view, her feelings for him - laid bare for all to see. And what would the others make of Bates' actions? Gwen answered that question for her.

"Besides," the girl added more cheerfully, "Mr Bates certainly made him regret it, didn't he?" When Anna failed to respond to that, Gwen's expression grew serious again, and surprisingly shrewd. "Are you and Mr Bates walking out?"

Anna laughed once. It wasn't a happy laugh. "No. No, we're not."

Gwen looked sceptical. "Only I've seen how you two look at each other. And you're always together."

"So are Miss O'Brien and Thomas."

"It's not the same," she persisted, ignoring Anna's attempt to deflect the argument. "Are you worried about your position here?"

I haven't even had a chance to worry about that, Anna thought. And it doesn't seem like a difficult problem to solve right now, not in comparison to everything else.

"No, it's not that," she answered eventually and this tacit admission to another person that there was something between her and Mr Bates felt so good that she was tempted for the first time to unburden herself to someone. But she couldn't: Bates being married - and everything else - wasn't her secret to share, even as she knew Gwen would never tell a soul.

"It's just a bit complicated, that's all," Anna finished, and she smiled a little at last. A bit complicated didn't begin to cover it.

Gwen, who knew more than most about keeping one's heart's desires private, squeezed her hand once. "I think you need to talk to Mr Bates," she said after a moment's thought, and Anna wondered when she'd become so wise.

"I know. But we never seem to have the chance."

That wasn't entirely true. They'd had chances, but he'd turn them all down. He was a proud, private man and it hadn't taken her long in her acquaintance with him to work out that there were certain direct questions you couldn't ask him. But Anna had only ever known how to be direct, and denying herself a straight answer had landed her in nothing but trouble so far: first making her declare herself to him on the way to a flower show and now this, running off like the heroine of a terrible romantic novel. It wasn't just that she couldn't act on her feelings that was eating at her – it was the fact that she couldn't tell what his were. All he had ever talked about were the obstacles between them, which implied that reciprocity wasn't the issue. He had nearly kissed her. Tonight, he had battered another man who had insulted her virtue. But, before London, when she'd asked him as directly as she thought he could take whether he loved her, his answer had suggested to her that, at best, how they might feel about each other didn't matter.

He was wrong. It was the only thing that mattered.

"You need to talk to him, " Gwen repeated, "and now's your chance."

"Now? What do you mean?"

"I mean now. Tonight. I'll open the door, you go through, I'll keep a lookout and unlock it again when you need to come back."

She laughed again but this time it was more genuine. "You've been doing too much sneaking around lately."

"And I wouldn't have got away with it if it wasn't for you. Mrs Hughes is going to be busy downstairs for ages now. You'll probably be done before she even comes up. Please, Anna. Let me help you."

A hundred objections flashed through her mind, most of them to do with what would happen if Mrs Hughes caught her. But she was nothing if not honest with herself, and being caught wasn't what she was most afraid of. That made her decision for her because Anna Smith, it turned out, wasn't beyond the sin of pride herself.

"All right," she told the girl. "All right, if you're sure."

Gwen beamed and tugged her off the bed. They stepped up to the door as quietly as they could, avoiding all the floorboards that years of sleeping in this room had shown them were most noisy. They stuck their head into the corridor: it was empty.

They slipped to the door to the men's quarters, and Gwen seized the key off the hook and turned the lock with an ease that made Anna wonder.

"You have been spending _far_ too much time with Lady Sybil," she murmured teasingly.

Gwen bit her lip to stifle an embarrassed giggle and it could have been a terrible mistake. In that split second where they were not looking, William had come out of his room. Both parties stared at each other like frightened rabbits for a moment.

"What the devil are you two doing?" he eventually asked, his stern expression made a little comical by his whispering.

"Anna needs a word with Mr Bates," Gwen answered, as though they were passing each other in the library in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon.

"He's not in his room - he's just gone to the bathroom." He seemed to realise something. "A word with Mr Bates? _Now? Here?_"

"It's not what you think," Anna said quickly, suddenly feeling the urge to protect Bates' reputation. He had worked too hard to protect it for her to wreck it for him, and she was going to him uninvited. As soon as the words had left her, however, they sounded like a terrible lie, and she could add nothing more.

"Come on, William," Gwen urged. "It's Anna and Mr Bates."

They seemed like magic words. He nodded to them and said he would fetch Mr Bates. Gratitude swelled her heart: no matter what happened now, she at least knew she had friends and she felt a lot less alone than she had in a long time.

"I'll lock the door again," Gwen said. "And I'll keep a lookout until Mrs Hughes goes to bed. If she comes before you're finished, I'll unlock it after she's checked it so you can get back anytime."

"I won't be long -"

"Don't you worry about that." She gave Anna a quick hug. "Good luck."

Then she was gone, and Anna was in his room. He had left a candle on his nightstand; its light flickered and swayed over the walls and furniture from the cool air sipping down from his open window. Everything looked like it had a place, from the books neatly piled on his small desk to his shaving kit and comb on top of his chest of drawers. It made the clothes lying on the floor stand out even more, and the contrast between the two seemed to be an apt expression of John Bates' character: two thirds decent and dutiful, one third impulsive and irrepressible. His strength of character had become apparent to her very quickly. His refusal to compromise himself when his infirmity might have made another man more servile, more desiring to ingratiate himself to others that had power over him, was all she had needed to see to fall in love with him.

This thought softened her mood. It was, ironically, this same strength of character - his pride - that was keeping them truly apart now; she was convinced of it. But she couldn't have a chivalrous John Bates and leave the stubborn one behind. It was a small price to pay, she decided, but she wasn't sure that he was willing or able to let her.

"Anna?"

This time, it wasn't Gwen. She turned around to face Bates and then wondered why she was surprised by what she saw, given the clothes on the floor. He was wearing his work trousers but only an undershirt, untucked, covered his chest. His hair was a little damp and rumpled, a towel slung around his neck. He looked younger than she'd ever seen him and she became suddenly and terribly aware that they were alone in his bedroom, and that it was already the most intimate they'd ever been. His eyes moved over her and then, as Anna's heart began to beat ever faster, his expression changed into something she knew instantly and yet shouldn't have been able to recognise. Because no man had ever looked at her like that before.

xxXXXxx

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_Apologies for the delay in getting this out. In the end it proved incredibly difficult to write: I realised a little late that I didn't really know where I was going with this. I knew I would not be resolving anything per se and this meant I ended up with an embarrassing lack of direction. And yet, somehow, this has ended up being even longer than the previous chapters – probably should have been split in two. Not entirely sure quality and quantity are evenly balanced here. I may also have taken a teeny historical liberty.  
_

_On top of that, as has been found by other writers, common themes and issues are cropping across the range of stories on this site, and I found this quite inhibiting – especially when presented with some truly wonderful writing in places. I know there are a few things here that have kind of appeared in other stories already. I can only say that I had thought of them for myself before they were published by others and hope you will accept my word for it. For the avoidance of doubt and the sake of honesty, I should say I'm referring to pieces from PBCD, MyMadness and Augrah. _

_Some special thanks to PBCD, actually, for putting up with some epic dithering and wringing of hands on my part!_

_Right – hope you paid attention to the above. There will be a test later._

xxXXXxx

Anna was in his room?

Bates stared at William, convinced he'd misheard him but the young man gave him an eager nod.

He left the bathroom, forcing himself not to run, and paused briefly before his closed door. Perhaps it was some strange joke. Perhaps William had imagined it. Perhaps Thomas had in fact knocked him out and this dream was the result.

He walked into his room. Thoughts started to race through his head at the sight of her, standing there flushed and bold, and he said her name, expecting her to disappear. He'd believed he would never again be alone with her but there she was. He'd believed she was disappointed with him and would never want to say a word to him, but there she was. He'd believed it was all for the best but there she was - and everything he'd ever pledged to himself was forgotten. _Everything _was forgotten, because she was here in his room and the top buttons of her bodice were undone, showing her collarbone and a delicate hollow at the base of her throat where he knew he could fit his mouth. Her breathing quickened, lifting her breasts, and in his mind's eye he pictured them in his hands; the thought was so vivid that it felt like a memory. When he looked into her eyes, he could tell, with a primitive certainty, that she saw the same things he did. He put the candle and toiletries he'd been carrying down on the dressing table by the door.

"Anna," he repeated. It wasn't her name anymore. It was an incantation, a prayer, a warning. And she ran to him, then and she was in his arms, her own flung around his neck. His legs unsteady, her momentum carried them backwards just like Thomas' had down in the courtyard, and they hit the door with a dull thud. She was trembling in his embrace, her chest falling and rising fast against his own.

Somehow, even though he was holding her so close and tight that not a single hair could have passed between them, it wasn't close enough. He bent his head, kissed her throat, her cheek, and then Anna was moving, too and her lips met his, soft and hard all at the same time. She yielded to him and he took and took, devouring her mouth, until they had to break apart for breath, foreheads resting together. Some of her hair had fallen loose and Bates raised a finger to tuck it behind her ear, taking the opportunity to trace the line of her jaw, then lifting her chin so he could kiss her again – small, gentle kisses, the merest grasp of lips upon lips. Then Anna was moving against him, raising herself up on her toes, her hands moving through his hair to hold him steady and tighten her hold on him.

He was only too happy to help. He spun them around and lifted Anna up against the door so that he was the one looking up at her now; she gasped but did not break their bond. It was the most delicious surrender: her tongue stroking his, slow but demanding, her fingernails raking the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He bucked against her and heard his own guttural sound of pleasure at the sensation on his flesh.

A gust of wind whistled through the roof over their head and burst into the room, throwing the window wide open and blowing out both candles. Somewhere else in the house - not far - a door slammed shut, its echo dying into a roll of thunder. They froze in the dark, panting, her breath hot on his mouth. He let her gently down to her feet and shifted slightly to her side so he could hear what was happening in the corridor. It took a few moments to be able to, because Anna remained clasped to him, her hands now around his waist, and he couldn't tell the pounding of his heart from her own. There were hurried footsteps and someone called Mrs Hughes' name quite loudly. When no more of the conversation could be heard, Bates assumed the caller had been severely shushed by the housekeeper. More footsteps followed soon afterwards, although not on the men's side of the corridor as far as he could tell, and silence, apart from the sounds of the storm, returned to their corner of the world. Now that danger had seemed to pass, he became aware of rain dripping into the room from the opened window and of cold air blowing over them. It was too late to worry about embarrassing himself but he disentangled himself from her anyway, ostensibly to deal with the window and the darkness. He did so slowly, because he had no idea what he was supposed to do or say next. He felt ashamed over his lack of control - the second time this evening that he had risked losing everything - and anger followed. How had Anna got through the door between their quarters? She must have left it unlocked - what if Mrs Hughes had found out? And William knew she was here. What must the boy be thinking now? Hadn't Bates beaten Thomas for calling Anna a woman of little virtue? And now she was seen creeping into his bedroom? Everyone would know before the end of breakfast. Why couldn't she leave things alone?

He found his matches on the nightstand and lit the candle there. When he eventually turned back towards Anna she was sitting on his bed, her fingers bunching up her dress on her lap, her gaze cast to the floor.

Bates had never seen her so uncertain or uncomfortable. His anger disappeared as quickly as it had come and now he struggled to look at her - unable to stand her distress, knowing he was the cause of it. Shame took on the bitter edge of cowardice and he willed himself to do something – anything – but couldn't think of what.

"You're angry with me," Anna said.

_How do you do that? How do you always seem to _know_?_

"No," he replied, because he'd realised something as soon as she'd spoken. "I'm angry with myself."

"You've not done anything wrong, Mr Bates. If anyone has, it's me."

"You weren't the one who punched Thomas."

"I wish I'd had the blooming chance." It was not what he had expected her to say – nothing she ever did, he reminded himself, was what he'd expect from another woman –and the surprise must have shown. "What is it?"

"I thought you were upset with me. You didn't look very happy down there." He stepped a little closer to her, candle in hand, and saw the red in her eyes. "You've been crying."

"I was upset, yes. Upset that at that moment I fell in love with you even more but couldn't say or show it. That maybe I never would be able to. It all seemed a bit hopeless."

Bates put the candle back on the nightstand, then sat down next to her, his bad leg held stiffly out in front of him. "I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I have cause to say that to you. I thought I was past having to apologise to women I care about."

"What is it that you're sorry for, Mr Bates?"

He looked at her, confused. "This... situation. My past. My marriage."

She smiled at him, more softly than he'd ever seen her do. "Please don't be. Your past and your marriage have nothing to do with me. And if you're sorry about this situation, as you call it, then that makes you sorry about the way we feel about each other. About what we just did. And I'm not sorry."

"Anna…"

"It's like I was only living before I met you. Every day was just the same, ever since I was fifteen and started working here. Now…" She bit her lip. "Now I feel... Alive. I didn't know there was a difference until now. It's like I've woken up."

Elation, joy, guilt and despair tumbled over each other. "But you said it yourself – it's hopeless –"

"I said it _seemed _hopeless."

"Oh I beg to differ," he snapped. He felt himself redden and stood; too quickly, and his leg bit again. He took two wincing steps to his chest of drawers and leaned against it, trying to compose himself and another apology.

"May I ask you a question?" she said, before he could do so. He turned back to her, quite uncertain, and nodded. "You used to drink too much. You suffered two years in prison for a crime you didn't commit. And yet, one day," she continued before he could interrupt, "one day you made a decision to change things for yourself. To make them better. Did you not?"

"I don't understand. Anna –"

"Did you not?" He nodded again. "I think you did because you wanted to be happy. Isn't that why we all do things? To be happy? When we do a wrong and seek to repent, it's because it's made us unhappy. Don't you think?"

Bates considered what she said for a while. "Yes. Yes, I suppose so."

"You have a choice here, too. To be happy."

"How? How can I be happy when..." His temper was flaring again. He had to be careful but his walls had taken one battering after another since the moment he'd caught sight of her in his room.

"When what?"

"When I can't have you!" He closed his eyes, clenched his fists and tried to count to ten in the little Dutch he'd learned in South Africa.

"Do you want to have me?" she asked, matter-of-factly.

"Don't be coy, Anna."

"Don't be angry with me. Remember?"

He looked at her, even though he feared he might be glaring. He'd only got to five. But there was no coyness in her gaze, only warmth, understanding and a twinkle of amusement. She didn't mind his anger – she was telling him she knew it wasn't directed at her - and that was enough for him to let go of it. He had no idea how she did it: how she managed to make him feel so safe to feel whatever he felt, to be himself. The tightness in his guts unwound itself and he found he could smile at her.

"I have often thought of you as an angel. Now I think you may be a wicked faerie, sent to torture me."

"I don't know about being a faerie, but in light of tonight, I think the vicar would agree I'm no angel. You've not answered my question."

"In light of tonight," he replied, using her own words, "I think it rather obvious."

"Is it? Or will I go to bed later, only to find in the morning that you are just my friend again? That tonight might as well never have happened?"

"I think…." He cleared his throat. "I think I will find it rather difficult to forget."

He knew what it was she wanted him to say. He knew she had a right to it, after everything that had happened between them, but it was something he had only ever told the dark and his pillow, as though God might not hear him at night. Saying it out loud to her would make it impossible to deny to the light of day, and yet his heart was the one thing he could give her. He met her eyes again.

"I love you, Anna. God knows I don't want to, but I love you. Yes, I want to have you. But I can't."

To his dismay tears came to her eyes again, but she shook her head, seeing him frown, and came to him. She took his left hand – the one he'd punched Thomas with - in hers and kissed it several times.

"You already do have me, John." She opened his palm and laid his hand on her chest, over her heart. "This is yours and it beats for you."

"Anna…" He turned his hand so he could clasp her fingers in his. He struggled to sound sensible, to make her understand, and not to kiss her. "It isn't simply that I am a married man. What about our places here? If we're ever discovered… What we've done tonight – what we _might_ have done - we can't do again. Can you live without it? Truly?"

He considered her – her youth, her boldness, everything that somehow made her the wondrous woman she was, and it seemed unlikely. Worse: like a crime to expect her to. Like caging a bird.

She looked stricken.

xXx

How odd, Anna thought as she stepped back from him, that your heart could be made whole and break at the same time. Her mother had warned her a long time ago about men who might prey on her and promise her their love, until they had got what they desired and abandoned you, sometimes in disgrace. She wished her mother were here now, so she could show her a man who would promise her nothing and refused to take what she was so willing to give. She ought to feel ashamed, she knew that. But she didn't. At least not as far as the rest of the world was concerned. John Bates' opinion of her, on the other hand, was much more important.

"I _am _sorry, Mr Bates," she started. She felt teary-eyed again and hated herself for it. "It's like I said before. I know I'm the one who did wrong. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have done what I did. You must be wondering what you hit Thomas for after all. You must think -"

"John," he interrupted. "Call me John again, please."

He had a new look in his eyes now, something more like tenderness. Her stomach churned with joy and uncertainty. Before she could continue he led her back to the bed, where he made them both sit down.

"Yes," he said, "it was dangerous to come here, and to involve Gwen and William especially. But as for the rest – you did not do it all on your own. I should have exercised more control and I'm sorry. I am older – much older than you – and I should know better. I do know better."

"So you don't think..?"

"What Thomas suggested earlier was filthy," he said firmly. "Do you feel what we did was filthy?"

"No. Not at all." He smiled - nearly smirked, in fact - at the speed of her reply. "Well," she added, feeling a little piqued that he seemed to want to tease her, "I did say I was not a lady."

"Hush. You know what I think of that."

"If that is how you treat a lady, I shudder to think what you do in different company."

"A good sort of shudder, I would hope."

The heat in the room, and in her limbs, shot up. Bates let go of her hand and looked away.

"I apologise. It was inappropriate."

"I think it was very appropriate."

"Anna, we must be serious."

"Very well. What do you suggest?"

He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. After two more attempts on his parts, she took pity on him.

"John?" Good Lord, she loved saying his name. He seemed to love hearing her say it because his eyes were back on her immediately. She cupped his face in one hand, gently tilting it further towards her so she could kiss him. When she leaned back a little, he followed, one arm snaking around her waist to keep her where she was. They stayed like that for a while, at an arm's length from each other as though they were dancing, but mouths moving together, lips getting to know each other.

"There," Anna said breathlessly when they eventually parted. "I knew you'd agree."

"This is exactly what I mean," he answered, his voice hoarse. "I do not begrudge you wanting this, because I want it, too. But there is something else the years have taught me. This - if we are even ever able to be alone in this way again - will soon not be enough. Not for either of us."

"Neither is your friendship alone. It's why I couldn't stay, in the courtyard. I realised I couldn't love you, and I couldn't bear it. I don't know how to be friends with you anymore. I don't know how I can forget dinner trays and flowers and walks to the village. We may lose each other yet, but it doesn't have to be today. Isn't this better than the alternative?"

"It's better than I deserve."

Here we are at last, she thought. "I didn't take you for a coward, John Bates. Don't give up now."

"A coward? Do you know what it has taken for me to push you away these last two years?"

"That's not courage. That's pride." Colour drained from his face then, as though he'd seen a ghost. "You have been in prison. You have a painful limp. You cannot be with the woman you say you love. And you think you've not been punished enough?"

"Can't you see I'm doing this for you? Anna - you have your whole life ahead of you. I have nothing decent to offer you. Nothing."

"Are you sure it's not Daisy you're in love with? Because last time I checked, I wasn't a silly little girl who trips over her own feet. I have my own mind and I have been making decisions for myself for quite a long time. And I've not done too badly for myself so far."

"And yet," Bates said with a tone of gentle rebuke, "here you are. In the bedroom of a married man."

"I didn't say I was perfect."

He burst out laughing and the sight of mirth on his face - the knowledge she'd made him happy, if only for moment - made her heart skip a beat. She was close to having him and decided to press her point. It suddenly occurred to her that she was effectively trying to seduce him, a man nearly twenty years her senior, indeed married, and who had seen far more of life than she was ever likely to. Not long ago she would never have believed she could be capable of such a thing but that was what he had done to her: revealed her to herself.

"Maybe you've made mistakes," she told him, when he'd stopped chuckling. "When you'll have atoned for them - I know it's up to God to say. But you're a good man. You prove it every day. When you protect William or Mr Carson. When you stand up to Thomas and O'Brien. You care, John. And you try and you try. And believe me, you succeed."

He shook his head. "I'm a selfish man, Anna. Most of my life I have gone only after what I've wanted, and I have got it, and look where it led me to. _That_is why I don't trust myself."

"Then maybe you need to trust me."

_Trust me, even though I want you, a married man, and I am forgetting everything my parents taught me about what is right. Even though I am asking God to forgive you even as I ask you to sin. Even though I am being selfish, too._

"Such faith you have," Bates murmured, and she wondered whether he could read her mind, if he really did have her soul in his hands. He was moving closer to her again and she knew he wanted to kiss her. She felt inexplicably shy - humbled by the joy of getting her heart's desire.

"I can be stubborn, that's all -"

She didn't get to finish. He shut her mouth with his own, in such a possessive way that, seductress or not, she was left in no doubt about which of them had more experience. And then - the world pitched around her and her body went slack, as though she was falling, and when she opened her eyes he was holding her close, looking worried, his grip firm around her back.

"Anna? What's wrong?"

_Oh no, Anna Smith. You did _not_ just swoon._

"Nothing - sorry – I simply..." She was faltering. Maybe she was a silly little girl after all, to nearly faint from a kiss. "The heat," she said. "I've been so hot and thirsty all afternoon - it's been a long day." It wasn't all a falsehood - she was still feeling hot and thirsty, and her corset felt tight and uncomfortable.

Bates gave a sympathetic nod. "It certainly has - you must be exhausted. Let's see if we can get you back to your room."

"Not yet, please," Anna protested before she could stop herself. She told herself it was too late to worry about decorum. Besides, he was the proud one, not her. Mostly. "It's just… Like you said. We may not be able to be like this again."

He sighed and put the back of his hand to her forehead. "I know. I know. But you're feeling very hot and you're probably dehydrated, too - you could be having heatstroke. You need to take some of these layers off and cool down."

In for a penny, she thought. "I can take them off here." The expression of horror on his face could have hurt her feelings if he hadn't been kissing her into near unconsciousness a moment ago. "Not _all_ of them, Mr Bates," she clarified. "I know I said I wasn't a lady but really, you have nasty thoughts." She squeezed his hand to reassure him. "I trust you. Entirely."

He hesitated but only briefly. He kissed her fingers and stood. "I'll get you some water to drink and to freshen up."

She watched him hobble to the window to reopen it, then to the dresser where he'd left his jug. In the two years she'd known him she'd learned to gauge how his leg was depending on his gait. She could tell it was stiffening up, but whether or not it was painful she couldn't say. He carefully listened for noise in the corridor, then stepped out. Just before he closed the door, his head reappeared.

"I'm afraid I do, you know," he said, looking grave.

"Do what?"

"Have nasty thoughts."

The door shut without a noise, apart from that of Anna's stifled snort. With him gone, however, her courage temporarily abandoned her. She was about to get undressed in his room. She did trust him, there was no question about it – more than she trusted herself. And for all she'd said before about their friendship not being enough, they had been friends first, firm friends; curiously, it was why she trusted him. But for all the happiness coursing through her veins, she was in fact feeling a little unwell, and since she'd also meant it when she'd said she didn't want to leave just yet, she had little choice. Reminding herself that he was only wearing an undershirt himself and therefore that there was not much difference if she did the same, she opened her evening dress and shrugged the top off her shoulders. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she opened her corset and removed it, leaving her in her short-sleeved chemise, then took her cap and released her braid from its bun. She let out a sigh of relief at the new coolness on her skin, and took a deep breath, enjoying being able to do so at last.

The door opened behind her. Anna heard him pause and hoped he wasn't offended or embarrassed after all. When the silence started to stretch, she turned to face him with a bright, casual smile and asked if he'd heard anyone else about. He shook his head, then set about arranging things for her, bringing the stand for the basin close to the bed and filling it from the jug, tipping what was left over into a glass from his nightstand, which he handed to her. She noticed he was avoiding looking at her, but she understood. As soon as he'd returned, she realised that the sight of him in only his undershirt was doing nothing to cool _her_ down.

"Drink," he said. She obeyed, knocking it back like a sailor might with rum. Once she was done, he took the glass back and got her a flannel from one of his drawers. "Once you are done, leave it on your shoulders for a bit, and pop your feet in the basin."

"Thank you. You know a lot about this."

"You learn a lot about heatstroke when you serve in Africa." They fell into silence again but this time he was the one to rescue them. He looked around himself and started to pick up the clothes he'd dropped on the floor, leaving her to start washing with a modicum of privacy.

"I'm sorry about the mess," he said. "I'm usually very tidy."

"I can see that. The army again?"

"A very strict Irish mother. The army was a blessed relief."

Anna laughed, but turned to look at him when she couldn't hear him move anymore. Bates was staring at her, a soft smile lighting up his eyes. "What is it?"

"You're a ravishingly beautiful girl, especially when you laugh."

She blushed and returned to her flannel, grateful for the cool shelter of the damp cloth. She finished wiping her face and her neck, having already done her underarms, then did as he had explained with the basin, dipping her now bare feet into the water. He sat next to her again, a little gingerly, and picked up the flannel to leave it on her neck.

"Sorry, I forgot."

"Not a problem. Any better?"

"Much. Thank you." She grinned when he slipped his hand under hers, palm up, and joined their fingers together. "You always take such good care of me."

It was his turn to look a little shy, which she decided was dangerously endearing. "Do I?"

She kissed his cheek in answer. "Let's see if I can return the favour. How is your leg feeling?"

"A little worse than usual. But I only have myself to blame for that."

"Is there nothing that can be done?"

"I will take some aspirin before bed. I'll have to be careful tomorrow – a little slower."

"I have a feeling I shouldn't be saying this –"

"Oh Lord," he teased her.

"- but it was quite a display you put on. I don't think Thomas really knew what hit him, and neither did anyone else."

He grimaced. "I fear Mr Carson might not be so impressed."

"If there is one thing Mr Carson hates, it's being lied to. And he knows Thomas lied to him about you stealing the wine. It wouldn't surprise me if he's worked out for himself that Thomas was the one who took it. You will be fine."

"That's what William said, too."

"And I can't imagine His Lordship would let you go for it, either." Thinking of Lord Grantham reminded her of another thought that'd crossed her mind earlier that night. "He was up late tonight. Were you talking about the war?" He nodded. "Is he going to reenlist?"

Bates' expression clouded over somewhat. "He is rather torn on the subject. He once promised Lady Grantham he would not return to active fighting and he doesn't feel he can break that promise, or even that he would be let anywhere near the front line. But he doesn't believe a staff position would suit him and his experience, either."

"What would happen to you if he did reenlist?"

"I would accompany him wherever he went, so long as my leg would allow."

"And if it didn't allow it?"

"I don't know."

She didn't believe that was entirely true. The likely possibility would be that he might be out of work. Either way, he would be leaving Downton, perhaps for quite a while. The awfulness of that prospect was too much for her to contemplate at that moment.

"I think you told that leg of yours tonight which of you two decides where you go," she said, going for some levity.

He gave her a long, searching look, then, and his eyes grew darker still. "You always take such good care of me, too. I love you, Anna. So much so that I sometimes feel rather insensible with it."

For someone so quiet and reserved, he certainly could find the right words when he wanted to. Feeling insensible in turn, she could do nothing in response except grasp his face in her hands and kiss him again. She seemed to take him by surprise but he was soon kissing her back, both his hands on her waist to steady her. Wearing only her chemise, she could feel each and every one of his fingers through the thin fabric, almost as though they were touching her skin. He must have felt it, too because they moved a little higher and tightened their hold, his thumbs gently caressing her.

She turned a bit more and leaned into his touch, into him, hanging on to his neck for some kind of balance. His tongue skimmed her lips and she happily opened her mouth to him. Now they were almost swaying, pushing and pulling at each other in turn, until Bates let out a grunt of frustration and reached for her legs, which he swung over his lap so she was almost sitting on it. Now that he didn't need to keep her upright, his hands started to roam all over her back in firm, searching strokes that robbed her of any breath she had left. Anna broke off their kiss and tried to say his name, but his mouth moved to her cheek, her ear, her neck. He tugged at the sleeve of her chemise, uncovering her shoulder, and he kissed her there, his breath tracing the top of her breast. She felt on the edge of a precipice, and the thought of falling was both thrilling and terrifying; she had to hold on to something –

Her arms closed around his neck and she lifted herself onto his lap. He raised his head at the sudden movement and she pulled close to him, burying her face into the crook of his neck. His hands stilled on her back but held her tightly still, and she let one of her own drift to his chest and rest where his heart was beating a wild rhythm. As it slowed and steadied itself, so did hers, and, eventually, she sat up a little so she could look at him.

"I'm sorry, Anna," he whispered. "Are you all right?"

She dropped a quick, chaste kiss on the side of his mouth. "I'm very well. Again, I think I should be the one apologising."

He smiled and she was glad to see that he looked reassured. "Perhaps, again, we are both to blame." Anna giggled, mostly out of relief, and he sighed. "Truly, you are the devil."

"Will you tell Mrs Hughes on me?"

"I wasn't complaining."

She laughed again and was rewarded with a big smile. She decided she liked the sparkle in his eyes when he felt pleased with himself. Then she shivered, and his expression grew concerned, one of his hands reaching for her feet.

"These are dripping wet." Her raised his other hand to the back of her neck, where the damp flannel had fallen from as they got carried away with each other. "Come on, you mustn't catch a cold now."

She came off his lap and watched him grab the towel she'd discarded earlier. He rubbed at her neck, then indicated that she should give him her feet. He rubbed them dry, too and they carried on talking for a while, comfortably drifting from one subject to another like they always did. It was a different kind of intimacy from the physical kind they'd just shared but she cherished it as much, if not more; there could not have been one without the other. It was not something she quite understood yet but it didn't matter for now. For now she was happy and that was all she needed to know.

Too soon, it seemed to her, they were interrupted. The sound of footsteps came up the men's corridor to pass Bates' room and open a door further on. A few moments later, the door closed and the steps passed by again. They said nothing until they could hear no more noise.

"I think that was Mr Carson checking on Thomas," Bates said quietly.

Anna knew what he was telling her. It was late, and time for her to go. She nodded and stood to pick up her corset. Her back to him, she put it on then slipped the top of her dress back on to her shoulder. Although she had managed her corset fairly quickly, the buttons on her dress were somehow defeating her.

"Let me help," he murmured over her shoulder.

She turned around and he went to work, leaving her to envy Lord Grantham that he had Bates to dress him every day. She didn't expect it carried the same meaning for His Lordship, however, and the thought made her smile.

"What mischief are you up to now?" he asked, looking amused.

"I'll tell you some other time."

"Anna Smith, not speaking what's on her mind?"

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

He grinned and dropped a kiss on her forehead, finished at last. She put her hair back in a bun and in her cap, and was finally ready. It was hard not to look how she felt – a little sad and disappointed they had to part – but she reminded herself how far they had come tonight.

He took her hand and guided her out onto the corridor. They reached the door to the women's quarters fairly quickly and found it unlocked. It had to be Gwen who'd caused a commotion earlier, she decided, probably to distract Mrs Hughes, and she'd kept her word. Thomas had warned her against city life, but perhaps it was the city that ought to be warned about the girl who was coming to it.

"You're going to have to explain this to me tomorrow," Bates spoke in her ear. Stepping back, he mouthed 'I love you' and she did the same; they stared at each other for a beat longer and then there was one last quick kiss – she thought of it as the kiss she'd wanted to give him when he'd brought her a tray of food - and she was on the other side, locking the door and tip-toeing back to her room.

There was no light in the room, but she heard Gwen shift in her bed as she started to get undressed in the dark.

"Are you all right, Anna?" she whispered.

Anna slipped under her sheet, facing her friend. Her eyes were used to the dark now and she could see Gwen's looking at her. "I'm fine, Gwen. I'm wonderful."

_And I never thought I'd ever have Thomas to thank for anything._

The End.

_PS The eagle-eyed and DVD-owners amongst you might have spotted a reference to a deleted scene. Did you catch it? Imaginary gold star for you if you did._


End file.
